Home is Where the Heart Is
by waterlilylf
Summary: Duo's never been a big Christmas fan, and most of his Christmas Past experiences have left a lot to be desired. This year, he has only one Christmas wish; to spend the holiday with the man he loves, but he's not quite sure if Heero wants the same thing...1 x 2.


Note 1: this is set in the 'Third Time's the Charm' universe. Chronologically, it takes place about nine months after the first story, and almost a year before 'Tropical Treasure Hunt.'

Note 2: Many, many thanks to the awesomely amazing Kaeru Shisho for editing, and for coming up with the sappiest title ever...Merry Christmas!

 **Home is Where the Heart Is:**

'Duo?' There's a rustily serrated edge to her tone as Hilde says my name; I guess it's not the first time she's tried to get my attention.

'Yeah?' We've spent over six hours trying to find her the perfect dress for a party she's going to next week, and at this point I just want to go home. 'I love it, I've told you,' I say quickly, nodding at the black dress she's holding. It's perfectly nice, (even if it's similar to at least a dozen others she has at home), but right now I'd swear blind that a moderately well-fitting sack looked good on her.

 _Please_ , I think, please don't change your mind. Not again. At least, we've made it to the cash register in this particular shop; farther than we've got anywhere else. I'm starving, my feet ache from tramping around what seems like every department store and boutique in Sanq, and I'm tired of hauling around her massive stash of carrier bags.

I just really, _really_ want to go home.

'I wasn't asking you about the dress,' she says tetchily. I don't think either of us is in the best of tempers at the moment. 'I was asking about Christmas.'

'Christmas?' I blink at her.

'As in the big midwinter holiday that's about a few weeks away. I'm sure you know what it is.'

'Of course I do.' For one thing, we're currently standing in a shop that's decorated gaudily in red and gold garlands, and a jangly, techno version of 'Frosty the Snowman' is playing on the radio. 'What about it?'

'I was wondering if you and Heero had anything planned?'

'Oh.' I shrug. 'Nothing really.'

'You're kidding, right?' She gapes at me. 'Duo, it's like three weeks from now. You seriously haven't talked about what you're going to do?'

'Neither of us is really that into the whole Christmas thing,' I say defensively. 'And we've both been crazy busy with work.'

She mutters something uncomplimentary under her breath, shaking her head at me. 'Whatever. Listen, some of us are going back to Ibiza for the week. All the usual crowd. Same place as last year. If you don't have anything else on, it's not too late for you to book and come with us. Would you be up for it?'

'Um, I don't think so. Not this year.'

'I don't know why I even bothered to ask you,' Hilde mutters as she steps up to the counter, and hands over the dress and her credit card.

'What the fizz is _that_ supposed to mean?'

'Well, you're not allowed to have fun any more, are you?' she gibes. 'Honestly, I'm surprised you were even allowed out of the house today. I thought Heero would have you locked in his kitchen making home-made decorations or cranberry sauce or something. Face it, Duo. This time nine months ago, you had your own apartment in the centre of town, you had loads of friends, you were out partying every night of the week. You had an actual fucking _life_.'

'I have a perfectly good life at the moment.'

'Yeah, right,' she says scornfully. 'You're living in the middle of nowhere; you never go out; you've taken up fucking _gardening_ , of all things; you spend all your time with Heero or his weird friends. Jesus, you don't even get it, do you, how much you've changed? You used to be _fun_! Then you met Heero, you went off and buried yourself in the sticks after you'd only known him a few months, and you're turning into some sort of Stepford Wife.'

 _None_ of that is true, I think, glaring at Hilde's back as she turns to the cashier and starts prattling brightly about accessories.

OK, admittedly, I did have my own apartment, (I do still have it, technically, although it's rented out at the moment). I had gone out a lot more than I do right now; there'd been a year or so when I'd been out every night, mainly because I didn't want to stay at home with nothing but the four walls and my own thoughts. And friends? Well, I'd had oodles of contact details for people to go out with. I'm not sure if they were friends as such. Some of them, yes of course, I'm still in touch with, but not most of them.

None of what she's saying is remotely true, and she knows that. It's just the usual litany of complaints that she pulls out and that just dodge the main issue.

I have changed in the past couple of years.

And she likes to think this is all down to Heero's influence, that he's a convenient person to blame, but she has to know, deep-down, that I'd been slowly distancing myself from my old life before I'd even met him.

Just as I know, deep-down, that she's scared of me not being her friend any more, and it hurts but there is just a teeny grain of truth in that. Not that we'll ever stop being friends; we've been through way too much together for that, but we don't have a huge amount in common any more. I think today's proven that.

My best friend's smile, as she takes her shiny, crinkly bag decorated with pretty pictures of holly, and turns to face me, is brittle as a dead leaf. I can tolerate so much moaning about Heero, as I just blank most of it out, but I do have limits, and she knows she's crossed the line.

She does mutter an apology as she walks back over to me, and I remind myself sternly that, other than Heero, she's probably the person who cares most about me in the universe.

'You don't have to like him,' I say coldly, 'but I won't let you talk like that about him.

'Sorry,' she says again, as we head for the front door. 'I just miss you. I want you to be happy.'

'I am.' I grit my teeth, as I try to open the door, juggle the million bags I'm holding (plus the new one now) and two girls push past me. 'Why can't you believe me when I tell you that?'

'Because it's what you spent years telling me, when you were with Solo.'

Oh.

That floors me just a bit because, well, that is what I did.

'I'm not saying Heero's like that,' she adds hastily. 'But I'd just prefer you to be with someone who treated you like you were the most amazing person in the universe.'

Heero does, I think at once.

But I know just what she's talking about, and Heero doesn't live up to those standards. She wants me to be with someone who's constantly fawning over me, with effusive, extravagant compliments and praise for how gorgeous I am. Someone who'll take me on crazy spending sprees (or hand me his credit card, if he can't be bothered trailing around after me). Someone who'll whisk me off to glittering A-list parties and galas in private jets and yachts.

I've been with guys like that, and I never meant a single, solitary thing to them, except as a pretty, shiny bauble to dangle on their arm until they got bored with me, and moved on to someone else.

My darling Heero, on the other hand, is quite possibly the least effusive, demonstrative person I've ever met, certainly in public. (Not in private.) On a very good day, he might hold my hand around other people. He can ignore me for hours at a stretch if he's busy with something, and I doubt very much if he's ever fawned over anyone in his life. (A computer, possibly. Or his horse.)

That's the side of him that Hilde sees. She's never really seen him relaxed around me; that he can funny and silly and sappy and oh, Lord, very sexy. She was shocked that for my birthday, he'd got me, not designer clothes or a lavish weekend away, but a new camera, one that I'd been drooling over for ages, but I hadn't quite wanted to splurge an obscene amount of money on something that's just a hobby. He'd also made me a birthday cake, the first person who'd ever done that. (A very rich chocolate gateau with ganache icing and a chocolate mousse filling). He'd brought me breakfast in bed, with the cake for dessert, and we'd spent pretty much the whole day in bed, finding creative ways to eat it.

Last week, at Wufei's thanksgiving party, he said that I was the thing he was thankful for. I mean Heero said it, not Wufei. Although 'Fei and I _are_ pretty close nowadays. Closer than I am with Hils, if I'm to be brutally honest. OK, he'd said it in most matter-of-fact tone possible, but I'd still melted. (Actually, some of his friends had almost fallen off their chairs with the shock of hearing him say something like that. And Trowa had almost choked on a piece of turkey.)

I honestly don't know what to say. I love that she cares about me, I really do, but I hate that she has this impression of Heero.

'I am happy, honestly, Hils.'

I mean it, of course, but somehow, maybe because of what she said about Solo, it comes out just a bit hollow, and we let the subject drop as we walk back to our cars. Most of the shops are closing so the streets are crowded; the traffic's going to be bad on the drive home, I reflect. It's fine for Hilde, who lives down by the harbour, but it takes over forty minutes to drive home, even if the road is clear, and there's snow forecast for the evening, so I really want to start heading home.

'How's the book going?' she asks finally. It's clearly meant to be a peace offering, but I can't help thinking grumpily that, since we've pretty much spent the day together, it would have been nice of her to ask before.

'The book's OK; finding it a nice new home is the problem.'

That's an understatement. For my first three books, I had a contract with a small, independent publisher that specialises in LGBT titles (especially ones that feature shape-shifting vampire cowboys and such) and they had an option for my next title. They've turned it down, very politely, since apparently it doesn't quite fit their target market. My agent's been trying to get a more mainstream publisher interested, and so far a couple of companies have expressed definite interest, but only if I tone down the m/m romance to practically zero (not going to happen) or ideally change one of the guys into a girl (which is _absolutely_ not going to happen.)

So, I've got a book (well, I've got the outline of a book, and a few hundred pages) that's paradoxically not gay enough to sell as an official gay romance, but too gay for mass market consumption.

Hilde shrugs. 'What's the problem? You know what you have to do, Duo, right? Just cut out the crazy plot, since no one's going to understand it in a million years, and throw in some more sex scenes, and you'll have no problem selling it. I don't get why you're spending all this time writing something no one wants.'

'I want it,' I say shortly. And Heero does, although of course I don't say that aloud.

'Yeah, whatever,' she says dismissively. 'Like I said, I don't get it. You're killing yourself over this one book. What's the point? You were never like this with the other three, and you actually had publishers interested in them from the start.'

My turn to shrug, as we head for the car park where we've both left our cars. 'i just want to do something different.'

I want to write something that's just not sex and fluff and the occasional gory murder. In this book, my two heroes have moved in together, there's an actual relationship going on, instead of marathon bouts of sex in various exotic locations, and there's a proper plot, supplied by Heero, all about skulduggery in the world of high finance.

Fizz it, even if this book never finds a publisher, it's been such fun to work on. I love that Heero takes such an interest; most other people seem to think my writing is just a bit of a hobby that I'm lucky enough to get paid for. But Heero turned one of his guest bedrooms into my study (and, incidentally, another one into a gigantic walk-in closet), and he's spent ages going over the plot with me; (actually, he's so enthusiastic, I kind of wonder if he'd like to try rigging the stock market in real life; I sometimes imagine the pair of us and Smokey having to adopt new identities and going on the run together.)

To Hilde, I just say something non-committal, and she gives me a big hug before getting in her car, and we promise to meet up the next week. I wave until she drives off, and then send Heero a quick text, telling him I'm on my way home, before I head off myself.

Finally, I'm getting to go home.

I'm wrecked and I've got the beginnings of a headache starting to rumble behind my temples; too much tinny Christmas music, and too many people talking. And the whole Hilde thing, because I'm not great at confrontation generally. Like I'd guessed, the traffic's insane. I send Heero a quick text to let him know I'll be a bit later than I thought, and get the instant reply that he has dinner cooking, and he and Smokey are waiting for me to get back.

I want that too. I hadn't really wanted to go into town in the first place. Heero has a crazy work schedule, and he gets up early most mornings to go to the gym or the pool (unless I can persuade him otherwise, something I'm fairly good at, actually), so I don't see that much of him during the week, and last weekend he was away at a conference and then yesterday, he'd had to work most of the day. I'd really just wanted to spend Sunday with him, but Hilde and I had planned our shopping day weeks ago.

We'd made the most of our morning together though; he's an obsessively early riser, and I _can_ be, given sufficient incentive. Afterwards, we'd both dozed off again for a little bit, and afterwards I'd dragged myself out of bed, and made us breakfast and carried the tray upstairs. I'd cooked Eggs Florentine, because Heero thinks breakfast in bed is the most sybaritic piece of self-indulgence ever, but the spinach somehow makes it all right. (He's weird, sometimes.)

We'd both left the house around the same time; me to meet Hilde and him to meet Wufei and take the dogs for a hike. I'd really wanted to go with him.

Oh, fizz it. I just want to be home. I glare at the non-moving line of cars in front of me, and absently flick on the radio. It's pretty much all Christmas carols, and one obnoxiously perky newsreader talking about the heavy snowfall that's expected to hit this evening, and how December and January are both predicted to have freezing temperatures. She says that like it's an actual good thing, burbling on about how winter sports enthusiasts will be in for a treat this year. I can't help shivering, even in my heated car, because snow (cold weather generally) is one of my least favourite things in the world.

This, I reflect, is going to be my first full Winter in Sanque since I was about seventeen. Solo had hated the cold just as much as me, so we'd always gone away in January, and in the past couple of years, I've been on holiday with Hilde.

Fizz it, maybe I should just call her and tell her I'll go to Spain.

I honestly haven't thought much about Christmas, and Heero hasn't said anything either. Of course, we've mentioned it an abstract sort of way. We both dislike the insane commercialism and excess and people getting themselves into a pile of debt to pay for it all (plus, neither of us is a huge fan of turkey). We both like some Christmas carols, and the decorations. He's talked about an office party that he's expected to attend, and loathes the idea of, and I've been invited to a dinner by my publishers, and a couple of charity things, and a bucketload of parties.

I like the abstract idea of Christmas, but most of my personal experiences of the holiday have been pretty awful. As a kid on the streets, it had good and bad points. On the plus side, large crowds of mostly distracted people made pickpocketing easy. On the downside, Christmas meant winter and cold weather and even snow.

Solo, who'd grown up pretty much like me, had this fantasy vision of what Christmas should be like. So, we'd always had these totally over-the-top parties that I'd never much liked, and he'd always drunk too much and then got maudlin, and then angry, usually with me.

I don't know what Heero normally does, if he celebrates it at all. He's not religious, and he doesn't have any close family; I can't really see him and Jay pulling crackers and reading jokes and wearing paper hats.

An hour later, I'm finally pulling into our drive.

This, I think, is where I've wanted to be all day. Not traipsing around stuffy, crowded clothes shops looking at rows and rows of over-priced dresses. I've wanted to be with Heero, taking Smokey for a long hike after lunch, and then just snuggling up with him (Heero, not Smokey) on the couch and watching TV.

Home.

I've been living here for a bit over four months at this stage; long enough for it to feel like I'm properly coming home when I pull up in front of the house, but short enough that it's still a little bit of a thrill to open the door with my own key.

Heero's the second guy I've ever really lived with, and so far I have never felt anything but sheer joy at walking into our house. OK, he might be busy or preoccupied with something, or stressed about his job, and sometimes he might be a bit short with me, or snappy if he's having a really horrendous day, but that's as bad as it gets, and he always apologises after.

So, home then. I've loved this room (actually, it's the whole ground floor since the house is open plan) since Heero took me here on our seventh date (fourth according to him) and made me dinner.

Four months later, it's our room. He's cleared most of his computer manuals and financial whizz-kid books up to his study, so my collection of detective novels are snugly settled beside his classic science fiction. OK, most of his are hardbacks, and lots of them are signed first editions, while most of mine are charity-shop finds, but they're all still happy, vivid splashes of colours. Our shared collections of artwork and plants; the few pieces of furniture I'd taken from my flat. Nothing very exctiing; just some things I'd picked up in junkshops or found thrown out by the side of the road and upcycled with sandpaper and chalk paint and lots of elbow grease. To be honest, the room was always lovely, but just a teeny bit on the minimalist side when I moved in, and even if I don't think Heero'd ever planned to get an Art Deco cocktail cabinet, or a vintage French dresser with chicken-wire on the doors, or a couple of battered old ocean voyage trunks, with their labels still attached, he's admitted they do fit in very nicely with his sleek, ash-blond modern furniture.

There are framed photos of the two of us together, with and without Smokey shoving his nose in. More photos, ones taken by me, on the wall in the kitchen area. Heero's dubbed the space 'Duo's Art Gallery', and I rotate most of the photos, although I do tend to leave up the ones that Heero particularly likes. Pride of place, at the moment, goes to a couple of photos I took at Wufei's Thanksgiving party.

Heero has switched on a couple of lamps, and lit the fire, and a few candles (another thing I've introduced him to: scented candles) so the room smells of cinnamon and vanilla and cranberries.

As soon as I walk inside, Smokey frisks over, wagging his whole back end, and Heero looks up and smiles.

'Hey, cookie.'

He's at the piano, playing the latest hit from the new Disney movie. I love Heero. I love living with him and finding out new things about him, things that I'd never expected. He loves Disney films, especially ones with animals.

'Hey yourself.' He goes on playing, but he does tilt his head for me to kiss him, and slides up a little on the stool to let me sit down.

'Did you have a good afternoon? How was Hilde?'

I know that really he likes her just as little as she likes him, but at least he does make the effort to be nice to her, to ask how she is.

'She's OK, she said hi,' I fib. 'Something smells divine, by the way.'

He looks at me with one of those tiny lopsided smirks. 'Thank you. I had a shower after Smokey and I got home, and I used that new shower gel you bought me.'

'Ha ha, funny man.' I kiss the little quirk of his lips anyway, and then nuzzle into the side of his throat. He does actually smell amazing (even if not quite so good as whatever he's cooking). Another little Maxwell-inspired change in his life; buying him decent toiletries instead of the supermarket own-brand stuff he'd been using. 'What's for dinner?'

'Lasagne.'

'Oh, yum. When's it going to be ready? I'm starving.'

'Maybe an hour. I thought you were going to have lunch out?'

'Nah, Hilde's on this crazy diet, so we just had coffee.'

'I can get you a snack,' he offers. 'Something to keep you going.'

'Mm, you can keep me going,' I murmur, pressing my lips against that place on his throat that drives him crazy. I've been with him for months now: I have a very comprehensive list of sensitive places. 'You think we could have a little appetiser before we eat?'

'It's possible, yes.'

And then my stomach rumbles, very audibly. Well, fudge. (No, Duo, don't think about food.)

Heero chuckles, and stands up. 'I think I need to feed you before anything else. Two minutes.'

While I wait for him, I reach out and touch the keys myself. He's been teaching me, and I can do simple tunes now. I tap out 'Freres Jacques' slowly, trying to remember the fingering.

'Very good,' he comments, sitting back down and handing me a little bowl. Nuts, olives, sun-dried tomatoes.

Heero slips one arm around my waist, and starts to play one-handed, improvising little tunes, while I eat. I finish my snack, and put the bowl down, and rest my head on his shoulder.

'Are you all right?' he asks softly.

'Yeah. Just a bit tired, after today.'

'Have you been taken over by some evil alien?' he teases. 'You don't mean to tell me that _you_ were tired of shopping.'

'Well, it was all women's stuff,' I say defensively. 'I'm not _that_ gay. And while we're on the subject of clothes, I love that shirt.'

'It's all right? I wasn't sure about the colour.'

'It's gorgeous,' I say, with total, perfect honesty. Dark, cranberry-red is not a colour I thought he'd ever choose for himself (it took me months to wean him off wearing anything but blue) but it looks great against his dark hair. And very seasonal.

Heero, at thirty-one, has discovered fashion. (Well, he sort of had me discover it for him, to be totally honest.) At the start, he just wore whatever I suggested (within reason) but in the last month or so, he's bought a couple of things off his own bat. He's developing his own sense of style, Heero. A bit more conservative and preppy than I'd choose, but it looks good on him.

It's absolutely not true, as he claims sometimes, that he _had_ to start shopping in sheer self-defence, because I threw out every garment he owned. A couple of the more egregious items did somehow end up in the bin, admittedly, and there were some lamentable but totally unavoidable laundry accidents involving certain horrendous sweaters and shirts until I figured out exactly what the settings were on his washing machine. And several black sacks of clothes got donated to homeless shelters. So the homeless people got new clothes (and, in fairness to Heero, they were all perfectly good quality garments that had probably been quite expensive.)

And my beloved has ended up with a snazzy new wardrobe.

I slip one more button open, and adjust the collar slightly, and fluff his hair up a little bit because I love it messy. 'There. Perfect. You could do a photo shoot.'

He grimaces and I laugh and then snuggle back in against him.

Home.

Oh, yes.

'You're unusually quiet. Is something wrong?' Heero drops a kiss on the top of my head, tucking me against his side.

'Just tired. And I sort of had a bit of a row with Hilde.' I hadn't planned to say anything about that, but it just slips out.

'I know she doesn't like me, but I do try, with her,' he says, soft and a little wistful.

'I know you do, love. I don't think it's even you, a lot of the time. She keeps telling me I've changed, and I guess she sees you as the catalyst for all of it.'

'Hn. Have you really changed all that much?'

'I think so, yeah. I was a bit of a party animal, the first year or so after Solo.' OK, that's about as polite a way I can put it, without actually coming out and saying that I'd been drinking too much, and sleeping around (also too much). Heero knows all that anyway; no point in bringing it up. 'Hilde, well, she thought it was a good thing that I was going out, meeting people. She thought it meant I was properly over Solo, that I didn't need her babysitting me all the time, that I was happy. Now, I'm not doing those things, she's kind of worried about me again.'

'She's scared of losing you,' he says quietly.

'I know.' He can be very perceptive sometimes, my unsociable, socially-awkward boyfriend. 'I'm a bit scared too, sometimes,' I admit into his shoulder. 'Not about Hilde; we've had some serious humdingers of rows before, and we always work them out in the end. I'm a bit scared about me changing so much.'

'People change all the time.'

'Yeah, I get that, but .. if I change everything, then maybe it means my old life wasn't very much to begin with.'

'I don't think you've changed all that much since I've met you,' he comments.

'Really?' I cant my head to look at him. 'I think I have. I've moved here, for one thing. I'm learning to play the piano. My writing's totally different. I'm way more domesticated. I like stuff I never even thought about before; gardening, bird-watching, looking after the horses.'

'But you're still you,' he counters firmly. 'You like some new things, that's all. But you still like all the things you used to as well. You love your dog. You spend time with your friends, even when they're annoying you. You do your writing, you take photos, you watch ridiculous reality TV shows, and you read even more ridiculous gossip sites on the internet. None of that's changed.' He gives me a quick little smirk. 'Well, maybe you're not _quite_ so obsessed with what you wear as you used to be.'

'Huh. Maybe that's 'cause I've got _you_ to dress up now,' I retort. It is sort of true, though. Obviously, I do still adore clothes, but half the time, if I'm just staying at home, I just pull on any old pair of jeans, and the first t-shirt or sweater I can reach, sometimes even one of his (the new ones obviously.)

'So, I'm what - your dress up doll?' he teases, laughing at me.

'Yeah. That's it, pretty much. Though I kind of prefer _un_ dressing you, actually.' I grin up at him, and slip another shirt button loose, pressing a kiss to the bare skin underneath.

'No.' He catches my hand in his. 'Dinner first.'

'Are you absolutely, positively sure that's what you want?'

'Oh, I always want you.' He stands up, and pulls me after him, and into a hug. 'But you haven't eaten properly in hours; I don't think you have enough energy for what I really want.'

'Ooh, promises, promises,' I tease.

'Absolutely, positively,' he says firmly, and then looks at me, very fond. 'You're still _you_ , Duo. Still the guy who stalked me in a book shop. And you've changed me as well.'

'Yeah, right,' I scoff. 'I've got you to come shopping with me a few times, and I've bought you some scented candles.'

'You know perfectly well it's more than that. Now, come on,' he adds briskly. 'Dinner. Do you want wine?'

'Maybe half a glass.' I don't really drink much these days, but a little with dinner would be nice.

'Sure. Go and sit down.'

I think he probably means at the kitchen table but I head for the sofa opposite the fire, Smokey shadowing me, and get a tray on my knees. Heero sets his own plate on the coffee table, and sits on the floor, close enough that I can reach out and touch his hair.

'This is amazing,' I mumble, mouth full of creamy, cheesy, garlicky goodness. He's a way better cook than me; he loves following recipes, the more complicated the better, whereas I like experimenting and making it up as I go along, which can be brilliant or disastrous, depending.

'Thank you,' he says, quite formally.

We don't talk a lot as we eat; he tells me a little bit about the hike he went on, and mentions that Wufei suggested going to see a film during the week.

'Cool, yeah. What day?'

'I wanted to check with your first. I suppose any day except Friday.'

'Why, what's happening on Friday?'

'I told you. I have to go to this stupid work party. You don't have to come, if you don't want to.'

I blink at him. 'Oh. Am I invited?'

'Of course you are.' He looks surprised in turn. 'Didn't I say?'

'Um, I don't remember,' I hedge. OK, he did say something about how people could invite friends or partners, but he didn't _specifically_ ask me to go with him.

'You don't have to,' he says glumly. 'I wouldn't blame you. It's awful, they expect us to _mingle_ ,' he says it like it's some horrific form of mediaeval torture, which for him it probably is, 'and you have to tell stupid jokes out of crackers and wear ridiculous paper hats, and there are team games after the meal.'

'Cool,' I say brightly, grinning at him over the top of my glass. 'I think it sounds fun.'

'You would. You'll probably enjoy it.'

'Yep, free dinner. Whole night with you. I'll have a great time.'

'Hn.' It's his default expression, but he does look marginally less grumpy.

'Tell you what?' I suggest. 'How about we get a nice hotel room in town for the night, so we don't have to drive home? We can sleep late the next morning, get room service, have wild hotel sex.' I wink outrageously at him. 'Bet you'd like getting to pull _my_ cracker and see if you get a surprise,' I add coyly, and he chokes on a piece of garlic bread.

'If you don't kill me beforehand, that sounds all right,' he admits. 'Better than usual.'

'You normally go by yourself?'

'No, I usually take one of the others. But Wufei hates these things as much as I do, and Trowa always ends up hooking up with one of my colleagues and then they keep hassling me because he doesn't call them, and and you know what Relena's like; she usually starts some big anti-capitalist rant.'

I grin; I can just imagine all of those scenarios. 'I promise, I won't do anything like that. So, that's Friday, right? I think it'll be fun. And we can have our own little celebration after. that's _definitely_ going to be fun.' I clear the last smears of sauce on my plate with a crust of bread and carefully put the tray down.

'Would you like some more?'

'I'm good for now. Heero, talking of celebrations, have you thought about Christmas at all? 'Cause Hilde was asking what we're planning to do. She's going to Spain with some of the gang; she wanted to know if I was interested.'

'Oh.' It's totally toneless. 'Is that what you want to do?'

'No. Not really. I don't know - what do you normally do?'

He turns to look at me, shrugging. 'Nothing special, really. It depends. If I'm here, I go to Relena's parents; they always have a huge Christmas party on the twenty-fourth. But I usually get a week off, so I try to go skiing somewhere.'

'Is that what you did last year?'

He nods. 'Trowa and I went to Switzerland.'

Right. Of course they did.

It's not that I think there's anything between them. I trust Heero totally, and if they'd wanted to be together, they've had years to hook up, and it's never happened. It's more - to be honest, I can't quite see why they're _not_ together. It's like they were made for each other. They've been best close friends since they were kids. There was obviously at least _some_ physical attraction at some point, and they're both stunning. They both love riding and sailing and skiing and all these other hobbies that rich people have. They're interested in pretty much all the same things

I do sometimes - not very often, but if we've had a row, or I'm having a wobbly day - wonder if Heero might get bored with me eventually. I'm not the sort of guy anyone in the universe would have picked out for him. His friends have never been anything but lovely to me, but for the first few months, there were definitely a few raised eyebrows and I caught a few surprised comments when no one knew I was listening. I think the general consensus was that I was this bit of fluff he'd picked up in a fit of madness, but that he'd get tired of me fairly soon.

I know my good points; I look good (amazing on my best days, when I'm properly dressed up) and I'm funny and charming and imaginative, and I know Heero has fun with me, but... But. I'm not someone he can do all his hobbies with; someone who can talk to him about global finance and politics.

'What about you?' Heero asks. 'Last year?'

'I went to Ibiza with Hilde and Devon and a few others. It was all right.'

We'd spent the day lying around the pool, drinking cocktails. In the evening, we'd gone to a club, and I'd ended up in the bathroom with some guy whose name I'd never known. I don't tell Heero that.

'And this year, would you like to go back there? With all your friends?' Heero presses.

'I'd like to be with you,' I say quickly, and then wonder if that's the wrong answer. Sometimes, he's pretty easy to read. Sometimes, he's impossible. This is one of those times. Maybe he'd quite like to shunt me off somewhere, so he can go and do his own thing. Ski down mountains like James Bond or someone, with Trowa. (I hate everything to with skiing. The snow. The cold. And the hideous outfits.) 'I mean, it's OK. Whatever you want. I could call Hilde, tell her I'll go with them.'

'Is that what you want, to do separate things?' Flip, he still has his unreadable face on.

'No! I just... don't want you to feel you have to give up the things you usually do, just because I'm not into all that winter sports stuff. You should go. It's only for a few days. You go and do your cold-weather thing, and I'll go and veg out on a beach with Hilde. It's fine.'

As I finish speaking, I suddenly realise it's not fine. That I want to spend this holiday with him, just the two of us. I don't want him to go off swooping down ski slopes and drinking hot chocolate with someone else.

'OK, wait,' I amend hastily. 'Ignore what I just said. I didn't mean it. I want to be with you.'

'Oh,' his face softens into a smile. 'Good. I thought maybe you wanted to go away with your friends.'

'Nope. No way. Just want to be with you,' I say firmly, and suddenly end up with Heero beside me on the couch, wrapped tightly around me. I think we're both a bit too full for anything much to happen, but we do swap some very heated garlic-flavoured kisses (luckily, neither of us is a vampire) and then end with me lying on top of him, and him playing with my hair.

'We can do anything you like,' he offers. 'Christmas markets in Prague or Vienna? New York; ice-skating in Central Park?'

'Mm.' I turn over, resting my chin on his thigh, and looking up at him. God, I love this guy. _Love_ him, more than anyone, anything, ever. 'You'd come to New York with me? Seriously?'

He was there once, a couple of years ago, visiting Wufei when 'Fei was working at the Metropolitan. He hates cities anyway, but he talks about New York like it's the Seventh Circle of Hell or something. He knows it's one of my favourite places though.

'If that's what you'd like,' he says stoically. 'Or we could go somewhere warm? I know how much you hate being cold.'

It's tempting, the vision of the two of us lazing on a tropical beach. Walking hand-in-hand through coconut groves to a shining, cobalt-blue sea. (I did a photo shoot in Tahiti once; I still dream about it sometimes.)

'Find that uninhabited desert island you're always talking about?' I tease, propping myself up on one elbow, and smiling down at him. 'Actually, do you know what I'd really like to do?'

The very first time I came to this house, all those months ago, I'd had a silly little fantasy of the two of us, spending Christmas together. I don't know where it came from, since I hardly knew him at that point, and I've totally forgotten it until now, but I suddenly know exactly how I want to spend the holiday.

'I'd like to stay here,' I tell him. 'All those trips, they sound amazing, and I'd love to do them some time, but this is our first year together. I'd rather just be here.'

'Really?'

'Really, yeah. We could do all the stuff that people do,' I say, suddenly excited. You know, eat too much and watch movies, and put up a tree and take Smokey for long walks, and stay in bed late. And invite people over.'

'I thought it was just going to be the two of us.' He looks slightly shell-shocked at my sudden enthusiasm.

'Well, it will be, most of the time,' I negotiate, 'but it would be fun to have our own party here, and we can maybe drop into a couple of the places we've been invited to, but we don't need to stay long,' I put in, since he's starting to look a bit googly-eyed with the horrific prospect of having to go and socialise with other people. 'And we can go into town some night, look at the lights and go to a carol service, something like that. The rest of the time, it'll be just us here. We can cook Christmas dinner together,' I enthuse, getting caught up in the whole thing; this is going to be so much _fun_. 'Maybe a pheasant or a roast goose or something, I saw this amazing recipe for prune and armagnac stuffing with roasted chestnuts, and tonnes of different desserts, and gingerbread, and Christmas cookies. And I'd like a real tree; I've never had one before, and I love the smell; d'you think we could get one? And we can get each other Christmas stockings and hang them up beside the fire, and...' I trail off abruptly, realising I probably sound like some little kid babbling on about his Christmas fantasy.

'We can do all of that,' he says quietly, and leans up to kiss me.

'Anything you want to do, specially?'

'Make a snowman with you,' he says promptly, and I burst out laughing.

' _You_ can make a snowman if you want. Make a dozen. I'll even watch from the nice warm living room and put the _Frozen_ CD on. I maybe forgot to tell you before, but I'm going to hibernate from the first snowflake 'til April.'

'I'd like us to do it together,' he corrects firmly. 'You can dress it up after,' he adds, as if that should be enough incentive for me. (It does sound kind of fun, actually.) 'Call it my Christmas present. And I want to take you skiing.'

'No flipping way,' I say at once. 'OK, I'll make a snowman with you, but that's it.'

'Just once,' he coaxes. 'If you hate it, fine. I'll never mention it again, but just try it one time. Please?' he adds softly, adding a couple of kisses for good measure, and that pleading expression I think he's picked up from Smokey. I can't resist it on either of them. 'I'll buy you the most fashionable skiing outfit in the universe.'

'Maybe one time,' I give in. 'If you really want it that much, as long as you promise to warm me up afterwards. But I want to get you a proper present as well; something I can wrap up and put under the tree.

'I just want us to do something together. That's all.' He strokes my hair back from my forehead with one hand, and lets his fingers drift down my check, a slow caress. Anyone else in the universe would add super-sappy something like 'You're the only thing I've ever wanted', but he's not like that.

It doesn't matter anyway, given the way he's looking at me.


End file.
